


Sun Eaters

by phalangine



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends With Benefits, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 07:25:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12601348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: The one where Ash and Lorca are FWB, which is all they want, right until it isn't.





	Sun Eaters

**Author's Note:**

> cbs: michael and ash are in love  
> me: you fools, you absolute fools. they are both gay

With only moonlight to illuminate the room, it takes Ash some time to find all his clothes. Not that it really matters- he's left things behind before, and Lorca always has them laundered and waiting for him. It's the principle of the matter, though.

They don't leave things at each other’s houses. Not if they can help it.

They have a simple arrangement: they meet up, maybe grab a couple drinks, then head to one of their apartments. It's usually Lorca’s, because he lives in a nicer part of the city, and his bed is nicer. Not that they always make use of it.

Tonight was more… athletic than usual. Something must be going on at Lorca’s work. The halfway house for returning vets he runs with a member of his old unit has been running into all sorts of administrative blocks on the programs they're trying to institute, but that's been going on for a while. They must have run into something especially frustrating, given how long Lorca made things last tonight.

Ash certainly isn’t going to complain about that part, though he is concerned about the halfway house. A friend from the Navy had a friend who lived there, and she recommended the place. Tilly swore up and down that Lorca and Philippa would give Ash what he needed to get back into life as a civilian.

She was more right than she could have known.

Ash tugs on his boxers as he shoots a look over at Lorca, who's still lying face down, his face buried in his pillow, the sheets tugged over his hips haphazardly.

This arrangement of theirs has done him more good than Ash ever thought possible. It's just sex, sure, and it could end at any moment, yeah, but the fact that Ash can handle it, can slip into someone else’s bed and enjoy it… That's something he spent a long time believing he'd never have again.

Ash still doesn't know what drew Lorca to him, and he doubts he ever will.

One of the first rules Ash laid down was there wasn't to be any extraneous talking. Lorca accepted it with a shrug, though he looked at Ash curiously, and he's held up his end from the start.

Stuffing his legs into his jeans, Ash refocuses on finding his clothes. It's always a little hard to concentrate after they finish, though. Ash can still feel Lorca’s fingers digging into his hips, can feel Lorca’s breath on his neck, can sense the hickeys forming on his chest.

He finds a sock and shoves his foot into it.

Lorca shifts on the bed, but he doesn't wake up. He's a deep sleeper after sex. And a talker, too, usually. If it takes Ash long enough to find his clothes, he tends to get treated to a messy display of Lorca’s subconscious.

 _“Animal crackers don't scare me. I'm a four fucking star general,”_ remains Ash’s favorite.

He finds his other sock on top of Lorca’s bureau. He doesn't recall throwing it off that enthusiastically, but clearly he did.

His shirt is with his jacket and his boots, all of them stripped off him by the front door. Lorca’s sweats and boxers are with them, and Ash can't help but remember how it felt to strip them off.

Shaking his head- he has to get going- Ash puts the memories aside and jams his feet in his boots. He has work in the morning.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Data entry is the most boring, regular job Ash has ever encountered. There are no surprises. There are no heroes. There's no yelling, except once when he dropped his laptop on his foot.

Ash loves every second of it.

He gets to work from home, which means he works from the coffee shop on the corner that has zippy internet and enough food and drinks to try that he never gets bored.

He has a lemon poppy seed muffin today and a drink that sounds Italian enough that it might be real but could just as easily be bullshit. It tastes good regardless.

He's been working for a few hours when the bell jingles and, a moment later, the chair across from him scratches against the floor.

“Hello, Ash,” Philippa says warmly. It's a redundant statement- everything Philippa does is warm. She's the perfect counterweight to Lorca’s standoffishness. It was Philippa who talked him through joining the house and helped get him set up at this job, and as much as he's come to like Lorca, Ash can't help but be grateful that he was assigned to Philippa’s care. Lorca’s magnetic; his flaws only make him more compelling. The man Ash was when he first started looking into the halfway house would have gotten into trouble with that.

“Hello, Captain,” Ash replies, setting aside his laptop. “How are you?”

“I'm well, as is Michael- she sends her best, as always.”

Michael was the only friend Ash made in the halfway house. They leaned on each other until Michael landed a job working in a lab and made enough to move out- only to move into Philippa’s place less than a year later.

“That's not all, though, is it?”

Philippa sighs, well used to this game. “It's not. Michael wants you to know that there is still time to join her.”

Michael has been offering to get him work at her company from almost the moment she landed hers. It's a bit of a joke between them, one that hinges on the secret fact that Ash has a weak stomach. He could never spend his days spinning blood and other terrible things, not even with the promise of promotion.

The only other people who knew about Ash’s weak stomach are dead. The knowledge drags a pall over the joke, and Ash feels the smile slip off his face.

Philippa watches him sharply but wisely lets him grow somber. “How is Lorca?” she asks after a minute.

Ash frowns, confused. “How would I know?”

“You're sleeping with him,” Philippa says. “I assume you gauge his mood when you do.”

She makes a good point.

“He seemed fine last night. A little on edge but nothing critical. I figured work was getting to him.”

“Just the opposite- we got approval from the estate we approached to let our people use the woods to camp when they need to. I had hoped he would be happier than he seemed.”

“It definitely seemed like something was up,” Ash tells her. “You're sure he hasn't said anything to you?”

She makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a splutter. “Lorca keeps his own counsel. He always has. I had hoped he would open up to you.”

“Me?” Ash shakes his head. “We sleep together sometimes, but that's all. We’re not together- not like you and Michael.”

Philippa hums, her brows knitting together. “Perhaps I will have a talk with him.”

“Good luck,” Ash says, meaning it.

 

**_xx_ **

 

“Fuck!”

Lorca doesn't say anything back- he can't say anything back, given how full his mouth is.

Ash reaches down and strokes a hand through Lorca’s hair. It's remarkably soft, too soft not to be the result of some intense care regime, the perfect counterpoint to the hard bone at the back of Lorca’s head where Ash’s hand is now, his fingers curled tightly in Lorca’s hair. His soft hair. His soft brown hair, so much darker than his bright blue eyes-

Fuck, now Ash is looking down and can't look away. Lorca’s eyes are half-shut, his mouth stretched wide around Ash’s cock.

Ash isn't even naked yet. Lorca barely bothered to undo Ash’s pants and tug down his boxers before he was taking Ash into his mouth.

They'd been necking on the couch for a while, long enough for Ash to have gotten hard. He'd thought Lorca might take pity on him and jerk him off before things got heavy.

Instead, Lorca had pushed him upright, slid off the couch, and kneed his way between Ash’s legs.

He still looks to Ash when he strips them down. He saw Ash’s file, after all. The one with the details of his discharge. Rather than make Ash talk, Lorca watches him, lets Ash decide where they're going and how they're going to get there.

It's one of Ash’s favorite qualities, along with Lorca’s enjoyment of sucking dick.

A blowjob is how they met, Ash remembers. The halfway house has get togethers that people who used to live there can join, and Philippa talked Ash into going to one. He hadn't had any friends there, and he'd still been uncertain in his own skin. So when he'd stepped outside and found a man taking a drag on a Cardassian pipe of all things, Ash had thought he'd found the perfect one night stand. Nobody taking a hit off the Cardassian equivalent of marijuana- non-carcinogenic, probably not addictive, only good for getting a bit of pep your step, but scentless and outrageously priced- was going to stick around.

It only took a little chit chat and an obvious come on for the man to nod and tug Ash into the shadows.

That time, Ash had been the one on his knees, sliding down Lorca’s expensive trousers and his silky smooth underwear. It probably hadn't been the best blowjob ever, what with Ash shaking with how much he needed it.

Now, he's only shaking because Lorca is drawing it out.

Ash can't find it in him to fight the whimper that leaves his lips as Lorca pulls off him completely, the only points of contact between them the places where Lorca’s hands are wrapped around Ash’s thighs.

Transfixed, Ash stares down as Lorca flicks his tongue across the head of Ash’s cock. His hips stutter, moving helplessly toward Lorca’s mouth.

Rather than do what Ash’s body thinks he should, Lorca ducks his head and bumps his cheek against Ash’s shaft.

Another whine escapes, and Lorca smiles up at him serenely as he presses an open mouthed kiss to the shaft. The fingers of Ash’s free hand dig into the cushion beneath him; the other hand just clings to Lorca’s hair as if that will keep Ash from flying apart when Lorca takes him back in his mouth.

He pulls Lorca off before he comes, but a hand flies to the base of Ash’s cock and strokes him just right just fast enough that he comes on Lorca’s face.

If he could come again so soon, Ash would from the sight alone.

Lorca doesn't move immediately. He just kneels there, breathing hard, eyes closed.

This has never happened before, so Ash just stares at him. He wants to touch; his fingers are twitching with the urge to reach out and touch the smear on Lorca’s cheek. But they aren't together. It might be beyond what Lorca is willing to let him have.

So Ash does nothing.

Eventually Lorca’s eyes flutter open. In the dim evening light, his eyes are brighter, the blue more intense.

For a wild moment, Ash wishes desperately that he could kiss Lorca, but they don't do that at Ash’s own request.

He'd known the moment he took swallowed Lorca down and heard him sigh that he'd want to do it again, and when he'd had Lorca sagging against the side of the building, pants around his thighs, he'd been selfish and lonely enough to try to get it on his terms.

Somehow, he had.

Lorca, a man he'd soon discover has a will of iron, had bent to his every request.

“I'll just… get a washcloth,” Lorca says softly, startling Ash from his revery.

“Yeah, of course.” Ash takes his now stiff hand out of Lorca’s hair. It must have hurt to have Ash tugging on it that hard for so long, but Lorca doesn't complain. He winces a little as he gets up- going to his knees is starting to be more than his body will let him do comfortably. Ash doesn't comment on that. The gap in their ages is always present in his mind, and he doubts it's any different for Lorca.

While Lorca cleans up, Ash tugs his clothes back into place. Ordinarily, he'd take his clothes off and raid one of Lorca’s stashes of lube, but today feels different. After what just happened, Ash feels too unsettled to be naked.

He's debating how to get out of this without being too weird when Lorca returns. He takes one look at Ash and jerks his head at the door.

“Go on,” he says, not unkindly.

“I wasn't-”

“I know. Just like I know you need to get out of here.”

Ash doesn't let himself sigh in relief, but it's a near thing. “Thank you,” he says as he gets up.

“Don't forget your coat this time,” Lorca orders, frowning. “It's cold out, and I don't want to find out you froze to death.”

Ash lets himself smile. This is the closest to a fret anyone ever gets out of Lorca.

“I'll be fine,” Ash promises, meaning more than the coat.

Lorca’s expression doesn't lift, but he doesn't argue either. It's the closest to a victory Ash is going to get.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Two days later, despite wearing his coat, Ash comes down with something. He feels like death, and the few times he's caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he's looked like death, too.

He called in sick, and his boss was understanding. He even texted Tilly to tell her he wouldn't be up to their usual weekly video call. She'd been understanding, if not sympathetic.

 **_[So when does your beau come over with soup?]_ ** she asks at one point.

Ash groans and kicks himself yet again for telling Tilly about Lorca. **_[He isn't my beau.]_ **

**_[Does he know that?]_ **

**_[Yeah, Tilly. He knows. Don’t you have a plane to fly?]_ **

**_[I’m an engineer, not a pilot.]_ **

Ash can practically hear her snippy voice. For someone who's served in the Navy for nearly five years- and designs aircraft- Tilly hasn't kicked her dislike of seeing her life’s work in action.

He sends the expected rejoinder, then, exhausted, puts his phone on silent. He's feeling too cold now, after feeling like he was made of lava for an hour, and though the blanket brushing over his skin is agony, the extra warmth it brings is enough to lull him into sleep.

He wakes up sometime later to someone shouting and banging on something. It takes him a few moments to realize the words being shouted aren't words but his name. And the banging is on his door.

Feeling he's a thousand years old and made out of needles, Ash trudges to the door before whoever’s on the other side knocks it down.

He doesn't check the peephole, just drags the lock free and opens the door. Dying can't be worse than the way he feels now.

Waiting in the hallway isn't death, though.

“Lorca?” Ash asks, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“You weren't answering your phone,” Lorca says. “Your friend got concerned, Philippa found out you were sick, and because she's off in Canada for something, I came.”

Makes sense.

“Why were you yelling?” Ash asks.

“You didn't answer anything quieter.”

That makes sense, too.

“Well, I'm alive. Just sick, so you don't need to worry.” He's about to retreat- the hallway lights are _piercing_ \- when he notices the container in Lorca’s hands. “What's that?”

“Soup.”

“Why do you have soup?”

“It's for you,” Lorca says, an edge creeping into his voice. He doesn't hand it over, though, his hand white-knuckled around the container. Lorca has good hands. They're a little rough, but they know how to touch Ash. It's only been two days, and they usually go longer- but Ash is desperate to feel them touch him again.

He shakes his head- a bad idea, considering he spent a fair amount of the morning vomiting, but nothing happens except his stomach rolling unhappily.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Lorca nods, and Ash leads him into the apartment.

It's smaller than Lorca’s apartment and less well furnished, but Ash is too wiped out to feel inadequate. He just collapses on his bed with a groan. His eyes fall shut in relief.

He hears Lorca walk deeper into the apartment. It's too small to get lost in here, and even with his compromised vision, Lorca shouldn't have a problem navigating. He's been here before, and Ash doesn't have enough belongings for clutter.

Lorca makes some noise in the kitchenette. Ash could  get up and help, but his head is pounding. Besides, Lorca spent months hiding his diminishing sight from the Army- according to legend, anyway. If he could do Army things with bad eyes, he can find a saucepan in Ash’s house.

Sure, Lorca’s been out for more than a decade, which has given his eyes time to degenerate further, but Ash is sure he’ll be fine.

He's dragged himself up so he's sitting by the time Lorca comes over with a bowl. It's a small bowl, Ash notes in relief. He accepts it gladly. He hasn't eaten since some time yesterday afternoon.

Lifting the spoon, he blows gently on it.

Lorca, who had disappeared for a moment after handing him the bowl, returns and sits down on the floor by Ash’s legs. “I know you don't keep with the dietary laws,” he says conversationally, “but the soup’s allowed.”

Nodding- he knows Lorca doesn’t keep kosher, and there’s a certain camaraderie in that- Ash takes his first taste. The broth is thin and easy to swallow, the flavor either deliberately mild or muted by his stuffed up nose. “It's good,” he says between his first spoonful and the second.

Lorca’s lips twitch. “It better be. I got the recipe off a J.O. years back. Never got around to making it until today, though.”

Ash freezes. “You made this?”

“Of course.”

“You know you could have bought some, right?”

Lorca shrugs one shoulder. “Homemade is always better.”

He has a point, and Ash really shouldn't be looking a gift horse in the mouth. If Lorca wanted to make soup, that's his decision.

Despite the hunger now clawing at his belly, Ash makes his way through the soup slowly. As he does, Lorca lays his head on the bed by Ash’s thigh, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ash puts the bowl between his legs so he can pet Lorca’s hair.

Lorca’s eyes fall shut at the first touch, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothing.

Ash briefly wonders what the phone call with Philippa was like. She knows the two of them aren't together, so it must have been odd to get a call from her asking Lorca to go check on him.

Then again, Lorca’s the biggest busybody Ash knows. Nobody has a finger on the pulse like he does. Part of that, Ash suspects, comes from a senior officer’s need to keep a rowdy group in line. But it's more than that, he thinks as he takes in Lorca’s weathered face. Lorca may hide it well, but he's a worrier. He keeps a sharp eye on the people around him as much to protect them as to keep them in order.

Smiling to himself- Lorca would probably roll his eyes if Ash ever shared that thought with him- Ash takes another spoonful of soup.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Lorca rolls off Ash with a heavy sigh. He's still breathing hard, his bare chest rising and falling quickly. His eyes are shut, probably because he's trying to meditate his breaths into order.

Ash watches him with a pang in his own chest. Things have been off since he came on Lorca’s face. They haven't been bad, exactly, but something's been prickling at Ash, something he knows is significant. He just can't put his finger on it.

Until he does, he can't lie back and just feel like he used to.

Lorca’s got his own set of bruises this time around. Ash couldn't help it. He doesn't like uncertainty, and the way Lorca sighed and tilted his head to make it easier for Ash to kiss his neck had settled something in Ash’s gut.

There are scratches down Lorca’s back, too, and fingertip-shaped bruises on the tops of his shoulders where Ash clung too hard.

Heaving himself onto his side, Ash stretches his arm out and lays his palm above Lorca’s solar plexus.

Ash hasn't felt close to someone in a long time, but he knows what the need to speak bubbling up on his tongue means. He knows what his desire to curl up with Lorca and nose at his ridiculous ears and kiss him until he's dazed means.

Ash pushes the knowledge away unacknowledged. Maybe he’ll find the answer someday.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Ash is nearing the end of his workday when Michael slides into the chair opposite him. She looks troubled, but her voice is as measured as it always is when she asks how he's doing.

“I'm fine,” Ash tells her. “Just finishing up, actually.”

She nods, flashing him a weak smile. “That's good. I'm glad to hear it.”

Michael never does anything weakly. Narrowing his eyes, Ash asks, “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly. She must know she's given herself away, because she sighs and glances away. “You know about the fundraiser the house is throwing, right?”

Ash got an email about it a couple months back. He deleted it without opening it. “What about it?”

“You aren't going, are you?”

“I never go.”

Michael bites her lip. “Lorca’s going.”

“It's his life’s work.”

Michael bites her lip harder. “He’s going with Admiral Cornwell.”

Ash’s stomach drops. “I thought she was in New York.”

“Word is, she picked up some donors out there, and now she wants to shower their funds on Lorca.”

“But she and Lorca barely talk.”

“They must have talked at some point, because I saw Philippa add her and a bunch of rich city folk to the guest list, and she wouldn't do that if Lorca didn't know.” Her expression softens. “I know you and Lorca aren't a couple, but- Nevermind. Suffice it to say, I thought you should know.”

“Yeah,” Ash says slowly. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You're my friend, Ash. Whether or not you do anything is up to you, but I thought you ought to know.”

He nods, knowing Michael isn’t the sort to tell him this to start trouble.

She gets up not long after. Ash wishes her goodnight, which she returns, but his mind isn’t on his friend. It’s two neighborhoods away, on a man who’s most likely sitting on the mat at the foot of his bed in the dark, meditating before dinner like he has ever since he got back.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Ash and Lorca go for drinks that Saturday. Lorca doesn’t mention the admiral or the fundraiser, and Ash doesn’t either. He thinks about them, though. From the moment he orders his first beer- a microbrew Lorca recommended the first time they went for drinks which Ash fell in love with- he can’t help but think.

The house’s fundraisers are always a mixture of a party and a meet-and-greet. The staff and housemates, former and present, who don’t mind begging get dressed up, and the potential donors wander around asking questions and making themselves feel good. It's effective, though. Somehow, Lorca and Philippa always manage to squeeze a bit more out of the donors each time, and the house has been able to do more and take in more vets. Ash never goes- people aren't his strong suit, which Lorca knows.

And even if Ash were good at being around people, like he used to be, why would Lorca take him? They aren't a couple. Sure, they get along well, and they know how to guide people away from each other’s sore spots, and they made a game out of Ash describing people as they approach and Lorca having to guess which voice matches which description. And Lorca doesn't have that many friends.

He has the admiral, though. Philippa told Michael who told Ash that Lorca and Cornwell used to be together, and Ash doesn't doubt it. He’s seen the way Lorca’s face goes soft the rare times he talks about her.

They’ll make a striking couple. Ash can see it now: Cornwell in a rare civilian dress, Lorca in his favorite black suit. They’ll probably dance together- Ash has only seen Lorca dance a few times, but he's heard through the grapevine that Lorca’s actually a properly trained dancer, and Cornwell is graceful enough to be a dancer herself. They'll move together perfectly, and everyone will be watching them. And afterwards they'll go back to Lorca’s place, and she'll peel off that suit, and he’ll slide off her dress, and Ash-

Well, Ash will be at home, eating leftovers and probably jerking off.

He drops his beer onto the table harder than he means to, and both of Lorca’s brows shoot up.

“Everything all right?”

Lorca really does have an expressive face. People keep calling him stone faced, but Ash just doesn't see it. Lorca’s emotions may not be theatrical, but they're right there.

“Tyler?”

Shaking his head, Ash looks up from his bottle into Lorca’s worried face.

“I'm fine,” he says, giving Lorca a half-smile. “Just thinking.”

“Care to share?”

“Nah, just… working through some stuff.”

He knows as he says it that Lorca will take that to mean Ash is thinking about something from therapy. It's a low move, but he really doesn't want to explain to Lorca that Ash had been picturing him fucking Cornwell. He could have lied, but lying only has a fifty-fifty chance of working with Lorca, and the last thing Ash needs to do is accidentally pique Lorca’s interest.

As it is, Lorca isn't entirely pacified. “Do you want to go home? We don't have to do anything.”

“No,” Ash says too quickly. “No, I'm fine.” He risks laying his hand on Lorca’s arm. “I've been looking forward to this all week.”

“I don't want you pushing yourself…”

“I said I'm fine!” Ash winces, knowing he's being the opposite of convincing. “I got some news. It's nothing big, nothing I shouldn't have been ready for. But it's got me out of sorts anyway.”

Lorca studies him for a long moment, and Ash could almost believe Lorca’s eyes were good enough to see through him.

“Come on,” he says eventually. “There's plenty of beer at my house.”

Ash doesn't need to be told twice.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Two hours later, when Ash is in the shower with Lorca behind him, his arms around Ash’s waist, kissing up Ash’s neck and trying to start round two, Ash can almost forget that this isn't his.

The next person in Lorca’s bed probably won't be Ash.

Maybe a break will be a good thing, Ash thinks as Lorca drops his head and starts kissing Ash’s shoulder. He could use some space while he remembers how to think with something other than his dick.

 

**_xx_ **

 

He's lying on Lorca’s chest, so he feels Lorca tense up when he says, “I want to go to the fundraiser.” It's an expected reaction, but it still stings. “I've been doing well lately,” he points out as he sits up. “And the house did a lot for me. I want to give back.”

“I understand that desire,” Lorca says slowly, “but your health is more important.”

“What about all the people like me who don't get to put their health first?”

“We manage well enough without you every year. You don't even like dressing up. The last time I saw you in a suit, you looked miserable.”

“If that's how you see it-”

Ash makes to get up, but Lorca catches him gently by the elbows. He holds Ash firmly- not so much that Ash couldn't break free if he wanted, but enough to make a point- and sits up himself. With only a few inches separating them, Ash is forced to look Lorca in the eyes.

“Are you looking at me?” Lorca asks, squinting. “I think you are, but I'm not sure.”

“I'm looking at you.”

“Good. Now listen to me. If you want to go to the fundraiser, I'm not going to stop you. You know your mind better than I do. If you think you're ready, I'll add you to the list. But, Tyler, I know something’s off right now. I don't know what, and I doubt you’ll tell me. But give me this. Tell me you'll leave if it’s too much.”

Lorca doesn't ask; he orders. But this doesn't sound like a request. His voice is soft, his expression open.

“I’ll be fine,” Ash promises, more intrigued by the change in Lorca than annoyed. “I'll ask Tilly to be my plus one. Will that put you at ease?”

Lorca has never met Tilly, but Ash has mentioned her to him in the past. Lorca knows Tilly is the reason Ash found his way to the halfway house in the first place. Between her, Michael, and Philippa, Ash will have plenty of chaperones- a point he keeps to himself.

“Whatever you want,” Lorca sighs.

Ash smiles. “Good. Now I just need a suit.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

Tilly takes one step into Ash’s apartment and groans. “Is that a cot?”

“It's for me,” Ash explains. “You get the bed.”

“I'd fight you on that, but I deserve it if I'm going to be playing buffer between you and the captain for an entire evening.”

“You're not going to be a buffer,” Ash says. “You're moral support.”

“Aka a buffer.”

He rolls his eyes but drops the last of his blankets on the cot. “Thanks for coming,” he says as he meets her in the doorway. “I know it was short notice.”

“Ash Tyler, I have known you for four years,” Tilly says, coming over. “If you think I was going to miss you being sociable of your own free will- sort of- then you just don’t know me. Besides,” she adds, “it’s been forever since I got to wear a nice dress. Which reminds me, we’re getting you a new suit, right?”

“Considering my last one was fitted before you met me and I don’t want to rip my suit, I think that would be wise.”

Rather than laugh, Tilly goes quiet. “You’ve come a long way, you know,” she says quietly. “When we first met, you could barely stand to be in a room with me. Now look at you.” Her lips quirk. “You’re all grown up now.”

“I’m older than you are, you know,” Ash says sourly, but he puts his arm around Tilly’s shoulders and tugs her in close, resting his temple on the crown of her head. He _has_ come a long way. “I hope this tailor is as good in a pinch as you say he is.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about Saru. Fastest fingers this side of the Mississippi.” She tilts her head and frowns. “Just try not to be too pushy with him, okay? He served, too, and I don’t think he was especially gung-ho to begin with.”

Ash resists the urge to sigh. Somehow, Tilly always knows the best people- but they’re always a handful.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Finding a suit takes three hours. Ash could have sworn they found at least ten suits that would have done, but Tilly and Saru ganged up on him.

“What if we tried something more bold?” Tilly asked as he modeled the previous suit. “Maybe the cut isn’t the issue and the color is?”

“Go on,” Saru said, pausing in arranging Ash’s rejected suit over his arm.

“Forget blue and black. Let’s go _modern_.”

Ash will never understand why she said “modern” with so much enthusiasm or why Saru gawped at her before proclaiming her a genius and scurrying off. He returned a few minutes later with a new suit over his arm.

“Oxblood,” he said proudly, gesturing for Ash to. “Still a neutral so you won’t clash, but wearing this, he will stand out.”

“Tilly,” Ash said warningly, but she smiled up at him.

“You don’t have to wear it,” she said, looking up at him with bright eyes. “But try it on at least, will you?”

Between her and Saru’s hopeful expression, Ash caved and took the suit into the back to try it on.

It’s a three piece and a little too big, so it takes him some time to get buttoned up. When he finally emerges, they both go wide-eyed.

“This is the one,” Tilly says as he reluctantly steps onto the raised platform. “Oh, Ash, you should see yourself.”

“I’m surrounded by mirrors, Tilly,” he points out. “I can see myself just fine.”

“And?” Saru asks.

Ash bites back the instinctive no. He knows for a fact that the others will be wearing black or navy suits, and the thought of drawing attention to himself from the get-go is… unappealing. He has to admit the suit looks good, though. Better than he’d thought it would.

“I think he likes it,” Tilly says. Ash can see her smiling in the mirrors.

“I can have it ready in three days, Mr. Tyler, if you are amenable?” Saru asks. “Provided you don’t mind letting me pin you today.”

Ash nods wordlessly.

Saru smiles up at him and heads off to grab who knows what.

“Lorca’s gonna lose it,” Tilly whispers loudly the moment Saru is out of hearing range, a gleam in her eyes and a sharp twist to her lips.

“No, he isn’t,” Ash hisses, suddenly uncomfortable. The idea is flattering but impossible, and he isn’t sure he likes that look on Tilly. “He’ll be busy with Admiral Cornwell.”

“Mm, I’m not so sure.” Tilly looks up at him, and the wild look is gone. In its place is a soft smile, and she reaches up to take his hand in hers. Something that was clenched tight in Ash’s chest loosens at the simple touch.

Saru returns soon after, armed with a box of pins, and Tilly steps back.

Ash resigns himself to a long afternoon of being poked.

His prediction is proving true- Saru has only just finished pinning one leg- when the bell on the door jingles and a couple walks in. A couple Ash recognizes.

As does Tilly.

“Michael!” she shouts, jumping up from the chair she’d been dozing in. “Captain Georgiou! What are you doing here?”

“We’re picking up a suit,” Philippa says. “Michael’s dress is ready, but the first tailor fell through. So we came to Saru.”

“A very good thing they did,” Saru grumbles around a pin. “That other tailor was incompetent. Those hems looked like they were done by a drunk child.”

Ash watches Philippa and Michael exchange knowing looks in the mirror.

“You look good,” Philippa says, coming closer. “The color suits you.”

At her side, Michael nods her agreement.

They’re well meaning, but the back of Ash’s neck prickles uncomfortably at the attention. Luckily, Michael remembers a commitment she and Philippa have, and the two move on. Ash lets himself let out a breath of relief as they do. He catches Tilly’s eye in the mirror, and she inclines her head slightly as she returns to her chair, the faintest acknowledgement that she was watching.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Ash and Tilly spend the next two days lounging around his apartment, only leaving to grab dinner. The rest of the time, they alternate between watching movies and playing video games. Ash beats her every time, which Tilly takes on the chin- or so Ash thinks.

On the morning of the third day, when Ash is blearily munching on his cereal and Tilly is sitting bright eyed on the floor next to him, she gets her own back.

“So, does Doc Culber know?”

Ash frowns and lowers his spoon without taking a bite. “Know about what?”

“The fundraiser, you goof.”

“Why would he?”

Tilly frowns. “Ash, tonight’s going to be the first time you’re going to be in the public eye since you got back. Someone’s bound to bring it up.”

Ash shrugs. “I made the choice on short notice. He couldn’t fit me in.”

“Did you even try?”

“Does it matter?”

Tilly sets her own bowl aside. “You know I love you like you’re my own brother-”

“Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” she says sharply. “If you’re self-destructing, I’m not going to let you go to the fundraiser.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“No, I’m not. If I were, I’d drag you to Culber’s office right now and refuse to let either of you leave until he saw you.” She looks away, her fingers fiddling with the pom pom on her sock. “You still haven’t told me why you want to go in the first place.”

Ash sighs and looks out the window. He’s been waiting for her to ask since she got here, and he’s had an array of half-truths prepared. Now that she’s asked, though, he finds he doesn’t want to lie.

“He’s moving on,” he says, staring out at the city. “I want to be there when it happens.”

Tilly doesn’t ask who Ash means. “I don’t think he is,” she says quietly.

“I’m not upset,” Ash continues. “We were never really together anyway, were we? Cornwell is a better match for him. He deserves to be happy, even if he doesn’t realize it.”

She doesn’t answer for a long time, just closes her eyes and rests her head on his knee. He lays a hand on her head, nearly losing it in her wild bedhead. They’ve come a long way since she found him. He thought he’d never be able to look her in the eye, but somehow, he came to love her like the sister he never had. She’s awkward and prying and overprotective of him, and he would do anything to make her happy.

“You deserve to be happy, too, you know,” she says at last, laying her hand on his shin.

Ash huffs. “I’m happy.”

“Not as much as you should be.”

“Nobody’s as happy as they should be.”

She sighs, but she doesn’t contradict him. That’s victory enough.

 

**_xx_ **

 

They both get changed in Saru’s shop. Ash goes in one changing stall; Tilly takes the other. He may technically be wearing more layers, but she’s the one who curses up a storm trying to get dressed.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she says at one point.

“Tilly, you volunteered.”

“Yeah, but I’m clearly an idiot.”

Ash rolls his eyes but refrains from commenting.

“I hear your silence, Ash Tyler, and I don’t care for it.”

By the time Tilly emerges, Ash has finished dressing, paid Saru, and called the cab company. He almost doesn’t recognize her when he hears the sharp rap of her heels and turns to see how she’s gotten dressed.

Ash knows about as much about dresses as he does about suits, but he’s confident in himself when he says, “You look beautiful.”

She gives him her usual bright smile and comes skipping the rest of the way over.

“Careful! You might rip the bottom,” Ash warns, even as he catches her hands and gives her a little spin. She follows his lead easily, ducking under his arm and turning deftly. Her body-hugging lacy black dress has an open back and a low neckline, which at once makes him raise his brows and roll his eyes. Leave it to Tilly to skirt the line of propriety.

“I’m not going to rip it,” she protests. She releases his hand and lifts the hem of her dress, giving him a view of the heels that forced her to duck her head to get under his arm.

He lets out a low whistle, and she snorts. “You leave me be, Ash Tyler. I don’t get to play dress up very often these days.”

“I’m not saying a word,” he says, holding up his hands.

“Keep it that way.”

From behind the counter, Saru smiles at them. “You both look impeccable. Do try not to break too many hearts.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

Tilly waits until they’re in the cab to ask, “So, what do you think Lorca will think?”

Ash knew she would ask eventually. “Tilly,” he says gently, “he’s almost blind. I doubt he’ll notice.”

“I could take a picture and show him.”

“That would worry me more if I didn’t know he scares you.”

She heaves a put upon sigh. “I don’t know how you do it,” she says mournfully. “He’s handsome enough, but I always feel like he’s watching me, waiting for me to fuck up.”

“He probably is.”

“Ash!”

“What?” he asks innocently.

She narrows her eyes. “I can always email him the picture, you know.”

Ash can’t help but laugh. Going with Tilly was a good decision. Tonight might hurt, but at least he won’t have to hurt alone.

 

**_xx_ **

 

They arrive more than fashionably late. Ash recognizes one of the housemates from his time at the Discovery taking coats, and the two of them nod amiably at each other. After that, he and Tilly melt seamlessly into the crowd.

Some people are dancing to the tasteful music. Some are sitting down at tables, eating. Others are standing around the edges in groups.

Tilly goes immediately for the food and drags him along with her. “We have to get there before everyone eats all the good stuff,” she says, eyes flashing. “I’m not eating another room temperature shrimp cocktail.”

Ash lets himself be towed toward a table. He snags two flutes of champagne from a passing server, both for Tilly. She accepts the first with a toothy smile, downs it, and immediately makes a grabbing motion for the second, which Ash hands over.

“Oh, my God,” she breathes, obviously checking out the diners’ plates. “They’re serving filet, Ash. Filet!”

Not surprised by the fixation in the least, Ash lets her ramble on, her hand crushing his in her growing excitement as she guesses at the contents of each plate they pass.

He doesn’t realize they aren’t the only ones going for food until Tilly, who’s guessing at the way some asparagus was cooked, runs right into Lorca.

She immediately turns an unbelievable shade of red.

“Captain Lorca!” she squeaks. “I didn’t see you there- Oh, no, was that insensitive? I mean, I know you can’t see very well, and I’m sure you know, but I’m the one who didn’t see in this instance, and it’s not like-”

Ash winces and cuts in before Lorca or Cornwell can. “Tilly, why don’t you go find out about getting something to eat?”

“Right!” She looks painfully relieved. “I’ll go get on that!”

She disappears a second later, ducking hurriedly through the crowd toward the kitchen. When Ash turns back to Lorca and Cornwell, the two are looking at each other.

Cornwell is frowning. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Sylvia Tilly,” Lorca explains. “One of the Navy’s brightest engineers. She’s also a friend of Tyler here’s.”

Lorca calling him Tyler has never felt so cold.

“Tyler? As in Ash Tyler?” Cornwell asks, turning to face Ash. “It's been a long time since I saw you, sailor.” Her face softens as she holds out a hand. “You look better than you did then. I'm glad to see it.”

Ash nods and dutifully shakes her hand. “Thank you, ma’am. I've been fortunate.” She hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing, and Ash’s skin starts to itch. “If you'll excuse me, I ought to check on Tilly. It was good to meet you, Admiral. Captain.”

Lorca doesn't stop him, not that Ash had expected him to. Who knows what Cornwell would say?

Probably nothing- she's made it as far as she has largely by being judicious.

It takes Ash a few minutes to find Tilly, but when he does, he feels immediately better. She's got a two liter bottle soda in the crook of one elbow, both of her hands holding plates heaped with food. She spots him almost as quickly as he spotted her, and she brightens, jerking her head toward the nearest table.

Ash nods and meets her there, and the two of them settle in for the night.

“She's beautiful, isn't she?” Tilly asks at one point.

Ash frowns, not sure who Tilly means at first. Then he catches sight of Cornwell on the dance floor. Lorca’s with her, their heads bent comfortably close. Ash doesn't take note of Cornwell at first; he's too taken with the full sight of Lorca in his suit. The way it hugs Lorca’s strong shoulders and tapers down to his hips, the close cut of the trousers that show off Lorca’s long legs...

“Ash?”

Shaking his head, Ash drags his thoughts away from Lorca. Cornwell is petite, and in her pale pink dress, she looks almost otherworldly, floating smoothly along with Lorca.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “She's beautiful, all right.”

“Too bad Lorca doesn't seem that taken in.”

“Tilly-”

“Ash.” She stops chewing long enough to give him a somber look. “Lorca isn't paying attention to her. He's looking at you.”

“You're reaching,” Ash says with a snort. “You know as well as I do that he can't see this far.”

“Maybe he's imagining he can.”

“Maybe you don't know what you're talking about.”

She rolls her eyes, but the conversation is abandoned a moment later when Tilly spots Philippa and Michael. She waves at them, which they return with more situationally appropriate nods.

“Why did I bring you?” Ash asks.

Tilly elbows him in the ribs.

 

**_xx_ **

 

A few donors come up to them, and Ash and Tilly quickly fall into a routine. She plays the loving girlfriend, who's just happy to have her sweetheart back in one piece, and Ash plays the brooding boyfriend, who doesn't talk except to praise Tilly. It isn't entirely a lie. Everything else is true, from Tilly learning about Discovery to Ash feeling more at peace among fellow service members.

They've gotten so content in the routine, they don't see the reporter coming until it's too late.

A donor couple has just left, well-fed on the tale Ash and Tilly wove for them, and Tilly is off to grab herself a fresh drink. Ash knows he should go with her, but his belly’s full, and his guard is down.

That's when she appears. Short, cherry red dress; blonde hair piled artfully on top of her head; an old fashioned notebook in her hand.

“Hello,” she says, her voice sweet. “I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?”

Ash nods and takes a sip of his soda.

“Well, I guess I'd like to start by confirming your name. I like to know who I'm talking to. You're Ash Tyler, aren't you?”

“I am.”

She smiles at him, her pink lips stretching wide. “Excellent. My second question is a little tougher: do you really believe it was acceptable for you to take a place in the Discovery house?”

Ash’s heart stops. “Excuse me?”

“Was I not clear?” She tilts her head. “Let me try again. You were caught, you gave up military secrets, you endangered countless lives. What right do you think you had to take a place in the halfway house when it could have gone to a more deserving service member?”

“I don't-” Ash’s ears are ringing. He stumbles to his feet. “That's not what happened.”

“Isn't it?” she asks.

“No! No, it's not- I never- I wouldn't-”

“Tyler.”

Ash looks away from the woman and finds himself looking at Lorca, Cornwell, and Tilly. Lorca steps around the woman and holds his hand out. Ash takes it immediately, lets himself be tugged around the table and through the room, out the side door and into the dark alley between the rented building and the next.

“You need to slow your breathing,” Lorca says letting go of Ash’s hand. “Head down, bend your knees. And breathe.”

Ash does as he's told, bending his knees and tucking his head, but he can't make his breaths slow. They keep coming too fast, impossible to catch, and his vision is going black around the edges, his head pounding.

“Come here,” he hears. Two hands cup the sides of his face a moment later “Breathe with me,” Lorca orders. “Deep breath in, long breath out.”

Matching Lorca’s easy breathing is too much right away, but Ash slowly finds himself getting closer. His breaths are loud in the quiet alley, the soft words Lorca murmurs inches away from his nose lost on him. He lets himself feel the shape of them against his face, Lorca’s own breath tickling as it brushes over Ash’s skin.

“Can you hear me?”

Ash nods. “I can hear you,” he says hoarsely.

“Good man.”

Lorca doesn't let Ash go. He keeps holding him, his head raised now so they're pressed forehead to forehead. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“We should have taken more care. We should have known who she was, what she wanted.” His hands tighten, and Ash lays his own over them. “I'm sorry.”

Ash is exhausted. His entire body hurts, he can feel the nightmares he's going to have tonight already sour on his body, and he wants nothing more than a nice long bath.

“It's not your fault,” he tells Lorca. “Some people will never be satisfied. They want someone to pay, and I’m convenient.”

“That doesn't make it right.”

Ash shrugs. “If life were about things being right, we wouldn't need a military in the first place.”

Lorca goes silent at that. He's seen enough to know he can't disagree.

He doesn't disengage, though. He keeps his hands on Ash’s face, one of his thumbs stroking Ash’s temple.

“Do you want to go home?” Lorca asks suddenly.

“Well, I can't stay here.”

“I meant, do you want to go to your apartment, or would you rather go somewhere else?”

“Somewhere like…?”

“My apartment has a tub big enough for you.”

Ash is dying to accept. He doesn't want Lorca to let him go. He wants to stay like this forever. “What about Cornwell?” he makes himself ask.

“What about her?” Lorca asks, sounding confused. “She has a hotel room. I'm sure we could find one for your friend as well.”

“Tilly can stay at my place,” Ash says, shaking his head.

“So you’re coming with me?”

Ash nods.

They're still standing forehead to forehead when the door opens and Tilly appears. “We got rid of her,” she says simply.

“Good,” Lorca replies. “I'm taking Tyler back to mine. You have a key to his apartment?”

“I know the combination.”

“Good. Tell Cornwell that Tyler and I are leaving early.”

“Will do.”

The door clicks shut behind her.

“I already called a cab,” Lorca tells him. “It should be here any minute.”

That's the signal to disengage. Ash reclaims his hands reluctantly, and Lorca slowly reclaims his own.

Their shoulders brush as they make their way to the front of the building.

The cab arrives a few minutes later, and they climb into the back. Ash expects Lorca to retreat, but he doesn't. He sits as closely as his seatbelt will allow and keeps a hand on Ash’s thigh the entire time.

The trip isn't a long one, and soon they reach Lorca’s building. The moment they get out, Lorca puts a hand on Ash’s back. Ash allows the touch, and together, they make their way to Lorca’s apartment.

When they get inside, Lorca marches him to the bathroom.

“Take your time. Just try not to fall asleep and drown.”

He makes to leave, but Ash catches his arm. “Stay.”

Lorca hesitates for a long moment, but in the end, he nods. Ash slowly lets go of his arm and sets about stripping down. Usually they would take each other's clothes off. Ash is grateful that Lorca doesn't try that. He wants Lorca to be close, but he needs to undress himself.

By the time Ash is finished, Lorca has shed his suit and is squatting by the edge of the tub, testing the water. Ash takes a couple steps closer and lays his hand on Lorca’s shoulder.

“It should be full in a couple minutes,” Lorca says as he gets to his feet.

Ash nods, letting his hand slide off Lorca’s shoulder. Lorca puts his own arm around Ash’s waist, his hand coming to rest on Ash’s hip.

“You with me?”

Ash nods and tilts his head to lay it on Lorca’s shoulder, putting his own arm around him. “I'm with you,” he sighs. “I’m just tired.”

“Of course you are,” Lorca says tightly, and Ash is reminded of the first official time they met.

Philippa had met him first and shown him around before telling him he ought to meet the other administrator. Lorca had been sitting behind his desk, petting a tribble and eating a fortune cookie.

Ash had been sure he’d get in trouble.

Instead, Lorca had frowned and held out a bowl of fortune cookies. “Take one.”

So Ash had, and as he'd carefully cracked the cookie open, Lorca had said, calm as anything, “I remember you from the news.”

Philippa had tried to interject, but Lorca had spoken over her.

“There's no point in pretending he isn't who he is. If he's going to learn to cope, he's going to have to be himself. The sooner people- including himself- see him as a man in his own right, not someone ducking from his past, the sooner he’ll be happy.”

And that had been that.

Lorca may not be an effusive person. He may not give off warmth like Philippa or be the type of person who always gets it right. But he tries, and he tries hard.

He's been one of the few constants in Ash’s life since he got out, and Ash wouldn't trade him for a more perfect man.

“I think someone gave me some of those bath salts,” Lorca says softly. “You know, the scented ones. I'm never going to use them. You want them?”

Ash feels himself smile. “Who on earth gave you bath salts?”

“It was a whole bath kit, if you must know. It even came with a loofah.”

“Oh, well, if there was a loofah, I apologize.” Straightening up, Ash asks, “What do they smell like?”

“The package was purple so I'm guessing lavender.”

“You didn't even open it?”

“What? It's not like I was going to use it.”

Ash snorts and lets Lorca go. “I guess I’ll use it, then.”

He listens as Lorca starts opening cabinets and rooting around in search of the bath supplies. He still feels shaken and dirty, but the familiar sounds of Lorca grumbling under his breath are soothing. Ash lets himself breathe, deep and slow, feeling how grounded he is, how steady his feet are on the floor.

He's here, in the present. He isn't at the fundraiser. He isn't a prisoner. He’s free, and he's about to get in the bath with Lorca.

A soft, “Aha!” breaks the spell, and when Ash turns, Lorca is straightening up with a basket in his hands.

“That's more than a kit,” Ash points out. “That thing is almost as big as you are.”

“Kat was making a point,” Lorca says. “She gave it to me right before I disclosed my condition, actually.”

The mirth dies in Ash’s throat. He knows Lorca and Cornwell go back, but it's another thing to know they're close enough that she's giving him a bath basket. A basket that, in Ash’s experience, is usually the kind of thing a woman would use- or expect to use with someone else.

“Were you two together?” he hears himself ask. He kicks himself the moment he does. They don't ask questions. They don't get personal. That's the whole point of this.

Lorca stops rooting around through the basket and lifts his head, frowning. “No,” he says slowly. “I don't think we ever made it that far. We both had high ambitions, and we weren't stationed together.” One side of his mouth quirks up. “Not to mention she has a psych degree and can't turn that part of herself off. She's always needling me about getting help, even when I'm getting it.”

“Oh.” Ash looks away. “I, uh, I didn't mean to pry.”

“Yes, you did,” Lorca counters mildly as he resumes his search for the bath salts. “It's fine. You and I are in a relationship, of sorts. It's natural to be… curious.”

“If you say so.”

Lorca sighs. “Get in the tub, sailor.”

With nothing better to do, Ash does. The water is hot, and he sinks into it happily. The tub is deep and full enough that the water comes up to his neck. Lorca comes over after a moment and starts sprinkling something, probably the bath salts, in the water.

The room quickly starts to smell like lavender. Ash breathes it in deep and feels himself relax immediately. He lets his eyes fall shut, just drifting.

Lorca shuts the water off and, from the sound of it, takes a seat on the floor by Ash’s head.

Ash peeks out one eye and finds Lorca leaning his arms on the edge of the tub, his chin hooked over his forearm. His eyes are half shut, and for the first time Ash has ever seen, he looks truly tired.

Squashing the urge to reach out and touch him, Ash folds his hands and shuts his eye.

They stay like that for a long time. It's comfortable, more so than Ash would have thought. Lorca is good like that. He knows when to push and when to let things lie.

The water goes cold, though, and rather than run another bath, Ash sits up.

Lorca stays where he is, but his eyes are on Ash. “Done?”

“Done.”

“I'll grab a towel.”

Ash gets to his feet with a shiver. The room is cooler than the water, and he accepts the towel Lorca hands him gratefully. It's long and fluffy, a luxury Ash can't afford.

As Ash slowly dries off, Lorca leaves the bathroom, only to reappear a little while later. He holds out a small stack of clothes, worn shorts and a soft shirt.

Ash takes them happily, glad not to be confined to nakedness or a towel, however soft. Once he's dressed, Lorca takes the towel and tosses it into a hamper, then gestures for Ash to follow him.

“I'm guessing you're tired,” he says. “Get in bed.”

Ash doesn't fight him. He can barely stay upright. A good night’s sleep, however unlikely, is exactly what he needs.

His head has barely hit the pillow before he's out.

 

**_xx_ **

 

He wakes up sometime in the night, his entire body rigid and sweaty, his throat sore.

He's so focused on his pounding heart that he doesn't notice Lorca until he speaks.

“That's the second time you've screamed in your sleep.”

Ash flushes. “I'm sorry.”

“I wasn't criticizing you.” He lets out a soft breath. “When I first got back, I slept with a gun under my pillow. After a while, and a lot of therapy, I traded it for a knife. By the time I was ready to let go of that, it didn't matter anymore. I always slept alone.”

“I don't really see where you're going with this.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I was sharing.”

Ash frowns. “Why would you do that?”

“You don't have any secrets,” Lorca says simply. “When you got back, your life had been ripped open. All your secrets were out without your say-so. A man needs his secrets, Tyler. Consider this me lending you one of mine.”

Ash nods. “I'm not sure I understand, but thank you.”

“You're welcome. Now go back to sleep if you can. It's only eleven o’clock.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

Ash wakes up again not an hour later. He hadn't been shouting this time, at least he doesn't think he had been, but his pillow is soaked and he has a headache. His hands and legs are unsteady as he gets to his feet and heads to the bathroom.

He flips on the light out of habit, only to see Lorca standing at the sink right after he does.

“Shit!” Ash flicks the light off as fast as he can while Lorca covers his eyes. “I didn't realize you were in here. I'll come back.”

“No, it's fine,” Lorca says. “I was only putting some drops in. I'm done now.”

“Drops for your eyes?” Ash asks. He already put his foot in it once. He may as well do it again.

“Yeah, the doctors say they'll extend the time I have until I go blind the whole way.”

“Do they hurt?”

Lorca shakes his head. “They're fine. I just forgot to put them in earlier.”

 _Because I was helping you_ goes unsaid.

“Did I wake you up?” Ash asks suspiciously.

“I told you already. It's fine.”

It isn't, but Ash knows Lorca’s too stubborn to admit it.

An idea- a wild, stupid idea- comes to him. “You know, if I'm going to wake you up anyway, we may as well share the bed.”

Lorca doesn't reply immediately. Ash can feel him thinking, working through the proposition from every angle.

“All right,” he says at last. “We can do that.”

Five minutes later, when Ash is lying on his side on a fresh pillow, not half a foot away from Lorca, he starts to wonder if this might not have been the genius epiphany it seemed to be.

 

**_xx_ **

 

He must fall asleep eventually, because he wakes up at around three o'clock with his heart hammering in his throat.

“If you puke, you better not do it in here,” Lorca grumbles.

Ash nods shakily. He isn't nauseated. He feels wound up, ready to go for a run or get in a fight. He recognizes the feeling for what it is, knows he can't just go out and throw some punches. So he stays where he is and tries just to breathe.

When that fails him, he crosses his legs and closes his eyes. He's a master of meditation at this point, and he falls into that calm place with ease. Once he's gotten his mind to stop racing, it's just a matter of patience as he waits for his body to relax.

He's calm when he opens his eyes again.

“There's tea on the bedside table,” Lorca informs him. “It's chamomile. The stuff always knocks me out.”

Ash twists around and, with minimal fumbling, picks up the still-warm mug. He takes a cautious sip, but it's nice. Not too sweet or bitter. “It's good,” he tells Lorca. “Thank you.”

Lorca grunts.

After Ash drains the cup, he returns it to the bedside table, flips his pillow over, and closes his eyes. He feels warm from the tea and Lorca’s nearness. Sleep pulls him under gently, and Ash lets lets it take him.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The next time he wakes up, it's morning. Or so the clock says. The curtains- they must be black-out- are drawn, and there isn't a fleck of sunlight in the room.

More interesting, Ash is lying on his back, and Lorca is lying on top of him. His head is pillowed on Ash’s shoulder, one of his legs thrown over Ash’s thigh, and he's got a hand on Ash’s belly under Ash’s shirt.

A distant part of Ash thinks he ought to panic.

The rest of him is more interested in the round ass under his palm.

“I can hear you thinking,” Lorca says without opening his eyes. “It's early yet.”

Ash smiles. “I always took you for an early riser.”

“I'm a free man. I can get up whenever I want.” Lorca shifts a little, his thigh brushing Ash’s dick. If he notices that Ash is hard, he doesn't mention it. “Do you want breakfast?”

“What are you making?”

“I could manage pancakes. Anything more complex and we’ll have to go out.”

“Pancakes sound good.”

“Give me another five minutes, and I'll get on them.”

Ash is comfortable as he is, if uncomfortably aware of how close Lorca is to his dick, so he doesn't argue.

As they lie together, he takes mental stock of himself. He feels mentally drained after last night, but it isn't as bad as it could have been. He's lucky; he never remembers his nightmares. His roommate at the house hadn't been so fortunate.

Granted, Stamets has a handsome husband who came to visit him nearly every day, which had to make up for some of that. Ash could endure all manner of nightmares if he had a partner like Hugh. Somebody soft, endlessly patient, and just waiting to kiss him hello.

Unbidden, Ash’s mind strays to Lorca. Lorca is none of the above. He's sharp, with as many jagged edges as Ash. He's impatient, always pushing, always moving forward. He never kisses Ash. His eyes don't stray to Ash’s lips. He never starts to lean in, only to pull away. The only time his lips touch Ash is when he's looking to start something. They're never chaste.

Ash doesn't think too hard about why he feels disappointment about that.

Instead, he gives Lorca’s ass a playful squeeze.

“Fifty-five more seconds,” Lorca grumbles. “And you'll keep your hands to yourself if you want to eat any time soon.”

Ash considers not keeping his hands to himself- he really isn't that hungry- but sighs instead. He isn't in the mood this morning, whatever his dick might think.

When Lorca gets up, Ash watches him raise the lights incrementally, pull on a fluffy bathrobe, and shove his feet in ridiculous slippers. The robe probably ought to look absurd, but all Ash can think is that Lorca looks appealing. Like a husband might- comfortable and familiar.

And that's the thought that convinces Ash it's time to get up himself. Unlike Lorca, who's presumably headed to the kitchen, Ash goes to the bathroom.

He feels all sorts of conflicted as he drops Lorca’s shorts and jerks himself off perfunctorily, but he'd like to have his brain back.

It doesn't take especially long.

Ash doesn't think about that either.

He washes his hands and splashes water over his face and feels mildly more collected. He'd like to take a shower- he smells like fear, and it's not a good smell- but he doesn't want to put his suit back on, and the only other option is imposing further on Lorca.

When he emerges, he immediately catches the scent of pancakes cooking and makes for the kitchen.

There, Lorca is squinting at a griddle and muttering to himself.

“I hope you like chocolate chips,” he grouches.

“I do,” Ash assures him. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Just got comfortable wherever. The butter and syrup are on the counter with the other stuff.”

Biting his tongue against the urge to laugh at Lorca’s verbose morning self, Ash heads to the table as directed. He dithers there for a moment, unsure of himself in this new situation.

“Oh, fuck you,” Lorca says tiredly.

Ash looks over instinctively, body tensing, only to spot Lorca scowling at the griddle even harder than he had been before. Following his gaze, Ash spots a poorly flipped pancake.

“Why don't I flip them?” he offers.

“You're the guest.”

“And you're going to put that griddle through the wall in a minute.”

Blowing out a breath, Lorca wordlessly hands over the spatula. “I hope your luck is better than mine.”

It is, as it turns out. Ash gets through the rest of the batter without incident as Lorca makes two cups of coffee for them. He presents the fruits of his labor to Lorca with a flourish, which earns him a scoff.

They wind up sitting together on the couch, Ash tucked under Lorca’s left arm, the plate of pancakes and mugs of coffee on the low coffee table beside them. Lorca eats slowly, while Ash steadily makes his way through the stack. He hadn't thought he'd be hungry, but he has to fight not to stuff his face like an animal. Lorca doesn't comment. He just rubs his thumb over Ash’s shoulder.

By the time Ash is full, all but two of the pancakes have been eaten, his coffee is cold, and Lorca is flipping through the newspaper.

It's cozy, and for a wild moment, Ash wonders if Lorca is with this with all his partners.

He dismisses the thought quickly.

“I should probably get going,” he says. “Tilly will worry.”

Lorca doesn't look up from his paper. “I'm guessing you won't want to put the suit back on.”

Ash would prefer not to, no. “I'll be fine.”

“Why doesn't that convince me?” Sighing, Lorca rubs at his forehead. “I've got some clothes that ought to fit you. You can borrow them.”

“You don't have to-”

“Tyler.”

“What?”

“I’m well aware of the fact that I don't have to do it. I’m not offering because I feel obligated to do so.”

 _Then why are you?_ Ash wonders but doesn't ask.

“If you want to wear the suit, fine,” Lorca continues. “If you don't want to, then don't.”

Ash doesn't want to wear it. “When you say you've got clothes that ‘ought’ to fit me…”

Five minutes later, Ash is standing alone in Lorca’s bedroom, dressed comfortably in a pair of borrowed boxers, low-riding jeans Lorca sharply warned him not to laugh about, one of Lorca’s soft t-shirts, and a USN sweatshirt Ash is pretty sure Lorca got during his time at the Naval Academy. And a pair of Lorca’s socks.

Ash is a little fucked when it comes to shoes- he's going to have to wear his dress shoes with the ensemble- but at least the rest of him is comfortable.

A knock on the door signals Lorca’s return, and Ash calls out for him to come in.

“I grabbed something for your clothes,” he explains, holding out a black garment bag. “You may not want to be around them, but there’s no sense in letting them get ruined.”

He puts away the suit while Ash throws in his underwear and socks.

“It's a shame, really,” Lorca says quietly as he zips the bag up. “It was a good look on you.”

Ash’s ears grow hot, but he's spared the agony of coming with a response by a knock on the apartment door.

“It's still cold out,” Lorca says as he walks out. “Consider borrowing a jacket.”

He closes the door behind him, which piques Ash’s curiosity. He's standing with his ear to the door before he knows what he's doing.

“-doing here?” he hears Lorca ask.

“I came to check up on Mr. Tyler,” comes the reply. It takes Ash a moment to place the speaker, but he recognizes Cornwell’s voice.

“What makes you think he's still here?”

“Gabe, please. I've known you since we were sneaking into bars at Annapolis. There's no way you don't have him bundled up somewhere.”

Ash frowns. That's exactly what Lorca did.

“Leave him be, Kat,” Lorca replies. “He's done enough.”

“I don't doubt that. Which is why I'm here as a friend, not as an admiral.”

“Well thank you for making the distinction.”

“Don't get snappy with me. I'm the one who gets to be unhappy. You didn't think to warn me that our most controversial former sailor was going to be at the fundraiser?” She sighs. “I know why you took him in, but, Gabe, you should be careful. Your entire operation could be in jeopardy by associating with him.”

Ash’s heart stops. He waits for Lorca to deny it, to say Ash isn't a liability, that Ash is just another serviceman, but he doesn't.

Eventually, after the longest pause of Ash’s life, Lorca finally speaks.

“Ash Tyler is a good man who was failed by the service and by his country. I won't add myself to that list.”

Cornwell sighs. “You always were too sentimental for your own good.”

Silence falls again. This time, it's Cornwell who breaks it.

“I thought you'd get softer after your discharge. Somehow, you only got more stubborn.” Lorca snorts. “Don't brush this off, Gabe. I don't know what you're doing with Tyler, and frankly, I don't want to. But be careful. You don't get to be your own man. Tyler isn't the only person relying on you.”

With that, he hears her leave.

Ash backs away from the door and quickly ducks into the closet, pretending to look through Lorca’s jackets.

It isn't long before Lorca returns. He doesn't join Ash in the closet, instead electing to flop down on the bed with a heavy sigh. “I'm guessing you heard that,” he says evenly.

Ash debates how best to respond, but Lorca doesn't wait for a response.

“Kat means well, but there are things she doesn't know. They don't matter in the grand scheme of things, but… Well, I'm allowed to be self-indulgent.”

Carefully backing out of the closet, Ash glances over at Lorca.

He isn't looking at Ash, though, his face instead tipped up to the ceiling, eyes open.

“She has a point, you know,” Ash ventures.

“That's usually the case.”

“People could make trouble for the house.”

“They could try.”

“They could succeed.”

Lorca groans and runs his hands over his face. “I will not be bullied into casting you out. Not by the public, not by the military, and not by you.”

Ash had a series of rebuttals ready and waiting, but he wasn't prepared for this. He gapes at Lorca for a long moment, mouth working but no sound coming out. “I'm not worth that,” he says softly, turning back to the closet. He looks, unseeing, through its contents.

The bed creaks, Lorca’s slippers whisper, and Ash freezes as Lorca comes to a stop behind him. He's ready for the hands he feels settle on his hips, but he isn't ready for Lorca to drop his head to the back of Ash’s neck.

“I won’t leave you behind,” Lorca says, voice soft. “And I don't give a damn what anyone has to say about it.”

Ash closes his eyes, lays his hands over Lorca’s, lets himself imagine, just this once, that Lorca means what he says.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Lorca winds up crawling back into bed, declaring himself ready for a nap and Ash free to leave whenever.

Ash briefly considers not leaving. He looks at Lorca, wrapped up warmly and alone in his big bed, and for a wild second, he thinks about getting under the covers with him.

He shakes his head sharply. That isn't an option.

He takes the bus to his block, then walks the rest of the way to his apartment. He isn't excited for the talk Tilly is bound to want to have, which leads to him loitering outside his own apartment building until he realizes what he's doing.

Taking a deep breath when he reaches his apartment, he opens the door slowly-

-and finds Tilly swathed in sleeping bag, eating ice cream and watching what looks like trashy daytime TV. She doesn't look over when she says, “Michael and Philippa called. I assured them you were good hands.”

Ash sighs and hooks the garment bag’s hanger on the hook behind the door. “You're a blessing,” he tells her.

“Damn right I am,” she replies pertly. “Which is why you're going to get the pint I left the freezer for you, grab a blanket, and tell me everything.”

He could say no. That's the thing about Tilly. She sounds like she's making a demand, but she's too soft-hearted to follow through.

He gets the ice cream.

 

**_xx_ **

 

By the time he finishes telling her what happened, his feet are in her lap, their pints are melting on the floor, and Ash is feeling a little like everything that happened was a dream.

He didn't look at Tilly once while he was speaking. Now that he's done, he risks a look.

She's looking back at him with the same earnest look she had when she told him _Garfield_ was a tragic comic. “Oh, Ash.”

“What?” he asks, immediately defensive.

“That's really not normal friends with benefits behavior. Like, at all. From either of you. And I think you know that?” She puts a hand on his shoulder; he resists the urge to shrug it off. “I know you two started out casual and you want to keep it that way, but as your friend, I have to ask. Are you sure that's still what you want? Or are you hurting yourself because this is the best you think you can get- being someone’s booty call?”

“I call him more than he calls me.”

“You know that's not the point.”

Ash lets his head drop against the back of the couch. He does know that isn't the point.

“I really don't think it's anything,” he starts, only for Tilly to glare at him.

“You should talk to Philippa- or better yet, Michael.”

“Why would I talk to either of them?”

“They were in a similar position, once. I mean, sure, they knew right off that they wanted to be with each other, and they didn't complicate things by being friends with benefits, and Michael is a hero, which you aren't-”

“Okay, I get it,” Ash snaps, pulling away. “I fucked myself over.”

“That's not what I meant. Although, I can see why you'd think that it was, considering how everything came out, and- That's not the point.” She shakes her head. “This is why you should talk to Michael. She's better at this stuff.”

She has a point. Not a point he wanted her to make, but a point nonetheless.

Does he want to be with Lorca?

He wants to say no. They'd never work even if he did want that.

But after this morning- after last night- he can't say that. He knows what it's like to lie against Lorca, sipping cold coffee while Lorca reads the news. He's seen Lorca in his bathrobe and slippers, and Ash would still go to knees for him in a heartbeat.

“I've stirred the pot, haven't I?” Tilly asks.

“Yep,” Ash sighs. “You sure did.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugs, too caught up in his thoughts to engage further.

The good mood he had earlier has dissipated entirely, and he isn't counting on it coming back. He should have at least tried to get Lorca to fuck him. Then he might have been too sleepy to talk to Tilly, and he never would have had to deal with this. He could have kept going to Lorca and getting what he craved without wondering if he was actually looking for more.

 

**_xx_ **

 

After Tilly leaves, Ash spends five minutes wondering whether he should call Michael before he gives in and gets his phone out.

She answers on the third ring.

“Ash? What's going on?”

He bites his cheek. “I wanted to talk to you about something. I can call another time if you're busy, though.”

“Not at all. Philippa just went out to grab us some lunch. What do you want to talk about?”

“Want is… not quite the word for it.”

“Philippa will be out for at least another half an hour, so take your time.”

He doesn't want to do this, but he has to know. “How did you know you were in love with Philippa?”

He can almost hear Michael quirking a brow.

“She had the flu,” Michael says slowly. “She was constantly coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose, and anything she ate or drank would come right back out. It was disgusting.”

“You're painting a vivid picture, but I'm not seeing your point.”

She huffs. “The point is, as awful as being around her was, I didn't want to be anywhere else. I would have sat in that chair by her bed for days, just holding her hand, all because I wanted to be near her and hopefully bring her comfort.”

Ash hasn't seen Lorca sick. He hasn't even seen him injured beyond a stubbed toe. He has no idea if he'd want to be near Lorca when he's sick.

A quiet voice in the back of his head says Lorca didn't mind being with him when Ash was sick. It was a different kind of sick, but still. Ash wasn't well, and Lorca didn't run for the hills. He ran a bath for Ash and made him tea. And in the morning, he made breakfast, and they- there's no getting around it- cuddled on the couch together.

“You two were already together, though, weren't you?” he asks. “So you knew she saw you as more than a friend.”

“I did.”

“So how did you figure out what she wanted before you got together?”

“You mean, how did I know she was interested?”

“Yeah.”

Michael hums thoughtfully. “Well, I noticed the way she would watch me. It wasn't creepy watching- more like, it was easy to get her attention and hold it. She wanted to hear what I had to say.”

Ash certainly gets Lorca’s attention, but he's usually leading up to taking Lorca’s pants off, so that might not be equivalent.

“Now, may I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Ash says distractedly, his mind dragged back to the time Lorca went down on him and Ash couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut. Lorca had been more than attentive then.

“Does Lorca know?”

“Excuse me?” Ash asks, the memory of Lorca swallowing him down evaporating in a wave of concern.

“Does Lorca know you have feelings for him?”

“Considering I didn't know until an hour ago, I doubt it.” Michael doesn't respond immediately, and alarm bells start going off in Ash’s head. “Michael?”

“I know you've been thinking with your dick when it comes to Lorca, but he's a smart guy, Ash. He and Cornwell had a friends with benefits thing going for a long time. He knows what that's supposed to look like.”

Ash thinks back to this morning, how confident Lorca had been that Ash would want to stick close. To last night- Lorca knew Ash would feel safe with him, in his apartment. “Fuck.”

“The question is,” Michael says gently, “is he humoring you or is he waiting for you to make a move?”

“Why would he wait?”

“He might not want to scare you off, for one. You're not flighty, Ash, but you do pull away fast when people get too close.”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“You didn't talk to me for three days after telling me your favorite lunch meat is roast beef.”

She isn't wrong, but she's talking about who Ash was more than two years ago.

“I've grown since then,” he points out.

“You have. And I'm sure Lorca has seen that. But, Ash, he's got his own issues. His eyesight was the reason he was discharged, but after the _Buran_ …. He outlived his crew. He's got his own healing to do.”

Ash sighs. “This is even more complicated than I thought it would be.”

“Love usually is.”

That's more than Ash is ready to deal with, so he politely thanks Michael and hangs up as fast as he can.

 

**_xx_ **

 

“I want to kiss you.”

Lorca freezes with his bottle against his lower lip.

They're sitting in Lorca’s living room, their feet on the coffee table, a football game on the TV. It's a Sunday, and Ash doesn't care about either of the teams playing. Neither does Lorca.

What Ash does care about is the arm Lorca has behind Ash’s neck, resting along the back of the couch.

He can smell Lorca’s aftershave. It's faint, but over their time together, Ash has come to make certain associations with it. Namely, that Lorca is going to fuck him at some point this evening. But also, aftershave means Lorca shaved, and Lorca shaving means he’s planning on going down on Ash.

Ash has been half-hard almost from the moment he sat down and caught the scent. He's been contemplating the possibility of undoing his jeans for the last four innings.

It had seemed fair, in the moment, to make Lorca a little uncomfortable, too.

Now, though, Ash wishes he hadn't.

It's been a whole minute, and Lorca hasn't said anything. All he's done is shut his eyes and lean forward to put his beer down.

Slowly, Lorca turns and opens his eyes part way. He’s close enough that he ought to be able to see Ash clearly.

“I should ask what brought this on,” he says softly, “but I've got a better question.”

Ash swallows hard. “What's that?”

“What's holding you back?”

What _is_ holding Ash back?

Only a little trepidation that he's forgotten how. The fear of Lorca pushing him away.

The possibility that he might not want to stop.

He doesn't tell Lorca any of this. He just puts his own beer down and leans in, the smell of Lorca’s aftershave getting stronger as he does.

It's a gentle kiss, barely more than a brush of lips.

The second is deeper. Lorca’s hand comes up to cup the side of Ash’s face, and Ash scoots closer, and closer, slowly climbing into Lorca’s lap.

After they pull apart, they stay close. Ash lays his forehead on Lorca’s and lets his eyes stay shut. He's breathing hard already, and his dick definitely isn't going soft.

Lorca puts his free hand low on Ash’s back, sliding it under Ash’s shirt, and Ash shivers. He arches his back into the touch, wishing hard for Lorca to move his hand lower.

After a moment, Lorca does. His hand drops below Ash’s waistband, running over Ash’s ass.

Ash sighs and ducks his head for another kiss. Now that he's started, he can see the wisdom in forbidding this; he isn't sure he's ever going to want to stop.

Lorca doesn't seem much more inclined. He groans and tightens his grip on Ash’s ass. “I don't know what you're doing,” he says hoarsely, his lips brushing Ash’s, “but I don't think I care.”

 _That makes two of us,_ Ash thinks wildly. He runs a hand through Lorca’s hair just to mess it up.

“You're always so put together.”

“That wasn't always the case.”

No, it wasn't. Lorca’s image of a well-dressed military man is wildly at odds with the scuttlebutt about him. Even after he left, his legacy of taking wild risks- and somehow pulling them off, with one glaring failure- endured, and these days, some of that daring will still show through when he's in the right mood.

“You've got everybody fooled, huh?”

“Just about.” Lorca strokes his thumb over Ash’s cheek. “But not you, it seems. What gave me away?”

“Hm, I think it was your bed.”

Lorca’s brows shoot up. “How so?”

Ash smiles. “Any man who makes his bed to military standards years after he's gotten out is hiding something.”

“So I'm hiding something now.”

“You are.”

“And what might that be, Mr. Tyler?”

“Oh, I don't know…” Ash slides two fingers down Lorca’s chest, hooking them in the front of Lorca’s pants. “I'm sure I can find something if I look hard enough.”

Expression souring, Lorca rolls his eyes. “You don't have to look _that_ hard.”

Ash bites his cheek, trying to smother a laugh, but he can tell he's been caught. “Sorry, Captain.”

Lorca rolls his eyes, but he doesn't protest when Ash pops the button on his jeans. Nor does he resist when Ash slides his zipper down.

His eyes flutter shut when Ash kisses the corner of his lips, the hand on Ash’s ass tightening its hold.

Feeling bold, Ash says, “You're going to fuck me.”

Lorca nods sharply.

“Can we do it here?”

“If one of us grabs the lube from the bedroom.”

“Inconvenient.”

“My apologies.”

“Why does that apology sound insincere?”

“I can't imagine,” Lorca says conversationally. “After all, every second I'm not fucking you is a second I've wasted.”

A shudder of anticipation runs down Ash’s spine.

“Come on,” he says, mouth dry, pulling away. “First one to the bed wins.”

He launches himself away in the half-second it takes Lorca to process. He hears a shout from behind him, but Ash doesn't slow down, just scrambles through the kitchen and towards Lorca’s bedroom. He's delayed a moment by having to open the door, which is long enough for Lorca to catch up just before Ash makes it to the bed. He puts his arms around Ash and, hauling Ash against his chest, heaves them both onto the bed.

They crash hard enough to make the bed creak. Ash lands on his face; Lorca lands on his side. They both grunt at the force of the landing.

Ash lies as he fell for a long minute, just catching his breath and enjoying the way Lorca’s arms are wrapped around him.

Twisting his head to the side, Ash takes in Lorca’s soft expression, the way his eyes are half-shut, like he's never been more comfortable.

“So what's my prize?”

“Prize?” Ash asks.

“I was first to the bed,” Lorca says patiently. “I won.”

“I think it was more of a tie-”

“Semantics.”

“-but I suppose I could come up with something.”

“Could I make a suggestion?”

“Depends on the suggestion.”

“Stay.”

Ash blinks, but no, the scene doesn't change. Lorca doesn't dissipate.

This isn't a dream.

“You want me to stay,” Ash echoes, just to be sure.

Lorca nods.

“For how long?”

“The day- the night. As long as you want.”

Ash’s bones ache with how much he wants this to be real. He wants Lorca to want him as a prize. He wants to sleep the night in Lorca’s bed and wake up in Lorca’s arms. He wants to watch Lorca fumble with the coffeemaker in his ridiculous bathrobe.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

“Think about it,” Lorca says, too lightly, when Ash fails to respond. “In the meantime, I think we were in the middle of something.”

Ash opens his mouth to tell Lorca that of course he's staying, but there's something in the set of Lorca’s shoulders that says he's lost his opportunity.

The bedside table drawer scratches as Lorca slides it open, and a moment later, the bottle of lube lands beside Ash on the bed.

They undress by themselves, the ease from earlier replaced with something taut. Ash isn't laughing when he takes his place on the bed and spreads his legs. There's no twinkle in Lorca’s eyes as he slicks up his fingers and, one by one, slides them home. They don't talk as Lorca fingers him open, his fingers pressing firmly against Ash’s prostate.

Ash can only groan when Lorca licks the head of his cock, can only fumble for Lorca’s shoulders when he replaces his fingers with his cock and presses in, can only do his best to breathe when Lorca hooks Ash’s knees over his shoulders and drives into him.

The smell of Lorca’s aftershave is inescapable. It's clean and familiar, and Ash wants another kiss.

They've fucked in all sorts of moods, but things have never felt so tense.

Ash comes first. Lorca takes his cock in his hand and pumps him just the way Ash likes, his own dick buried deep in Ash’s ass, until Ash can't take any more and comes over Lorca’s hand and his own belly.

He briefly loses track of things after that, but it isn't long after he shakes off his stupor that he hears the telltale hitch in Lorca’s breath that means he's about to come.

When he does, he doesn't pull out like he usually does. Instead, he comes in Ash’s ass with his eyes squeezed shut.

He stays like that, his face not a foot from Ash’s face, as he catches his breath.

Ash can't fight the urge to pet him, so he doesn't. He touches Lorca’s smooth cheek with the backs of his fingers, stroking him until Lorca turns his head and kisses his hand.

“Let me stay.”

Ash didn't mean to say it- he was going to wait until later, when Lorca couldn't claim Ash was just out of it from getting fucked- but he did say it. And now he's got to live with the consequences.

Lorca doesn't respond immediately. He just blinks down at Ash for a long moment. Then he pulls back, and out, looking older than Ash has ever seen him.

“What do you want from me?” he asks.

It's obvious that he doesn't just mean right now, and it strikes Ash for the first time that Lorca isn't any more certain of things than he is. He's seen more of the big picture, maybe, but he doesn't have all the answers. He can't be sure Ash won't walk out on him any more than Ash be sure Lorca won't kick him out.

“I want exclusivity,” Ash says.

Lorca snorts. “You've had that from the start.”

“Then I want a side of the bed, too,” Ash tells him. “I want you to make me coffee in the morning. And I want half of your closet. And to be your date when the house has fundraisers, and even when it doesn't. I want to know about your family. But for the moment, I really just want to kiss you.”

He watches Lorca swallow. “I think I can handle all of that.”

Ash draws a shaky breath. “I'm going need better than ‘I think I can’.”

Lorca nods. “I will handle all of that. You can have the whole damn bed if you want. I'll make you coffee. We might need to renovate the closet, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. As for being my date, there's no one I'd rather take. My family is a mess that I’ve been avoiding for nearly thirty years, but I'll tell you anything you want to know.” He tilts his head. “Did I miss anything?”

“Just one.” Reaching up, Ash gently tugs Lorca’s head down.

“Ah.” A smile curves Lorca’s lips. “I think I remember now.”

 

**_xx_ **

 

They don't move in together right away. It takes two months of Ash having one foot in his apartment and one foot in Lorca’s before he gives up, breaks his lease, and moves in.

He celebrates this new step by blowing Lorca in the kitchen.

“Check for dust while you're down there, will you?” Lorca asks as he tries to catch his breath. “The cleaning service is sending a new cleaner, and I don't think they're as thorough as the last one.”

Ash does find dust and subsequently spends the next hour on his back, making the most of Lorca’s frustration.

It isn't all roses, though. Living with a visually impaired man means Ash spends a lot of time fumbling around in the dark. Lorca tells him it's fine for Ash to turn the lights on, but there's something about wandering around in the dark until Lorca comes and gets him that's just the faintest bit romantic.

He reminds himself of this every time he stubs a toe or runs into a wall.

As much as he loves getting laid regularly, the best part of living with Lorca is just having him around. Lorca is the grumpy voice that reminds Ash where and when he is when Ash wakes up disoriented at one a.m. He's the gentle hands that wash away the fear-sweat and tuck him in after a nightmare. He's the body placed deliberately between Ash and someone who's getting handsy. He's the obnoxious fitness junkie dragging Ash outside for a morning jog and handing him a mysterious green liquid for breakfast.

He's the kiss to Ash’s temple when work gives him a headache.

And best of all, he's the man who’s going to wear Ash’s ring.

**Author's Note:**

> hey big s/o to jewishcaptainlorca/jessicamiriamdrew who said this isn't totally unredeemable garbage
> 
> oh, and catch me on tumblr @ shazadlatifs where there's one tylorca fic that won't be published here and maybe more on the way


End file.
